Distraction
by Glass Prism
Summary: Pre-TDKR. After a nightmare, Talia goes to Bane for comfort and something to take her mind off it. Takes place during their time in the pit.


A/N: I fell kind of hard for this pairing, and after seeing the spectacularly wonderful fics out there, I wrote some of my own. But I ended up getting sidetracked by this prompt I found on the TDKR Anonymous Kink Meme LiveJournal, which goes something like this:

_In the pit, Bane sometimes plays a game with little Talia to comfort her and brighten her up. She's a kid after all, and kids want/need to play. I'm sure they were creative enough to come up with some sort of game, with the very limited resources they had._

(Hmm, maybe I should go the LiveJournal and inform the OP that it's been filled.)

So here it is. It's quite fluffy and cute (I fail at writing dark stuff - FAIL) and likely very OOC, but... hopefully it's _entertaining_ fluff. You can think of this as me testing the waters, so to speak. It's been a while since I wrote or published a fic, and my first time in the Batman fandom. So if it's good, I'll write more, and if it's bad... I'll still write more! But I obviously will work on it more before uploading again. Concrit is a good thing.

So, without further ado, the story.

**DISTRACTIONS**

It was the way she jerked awake that told him what happened, more than her wide-eyed fear when she sat up and looked around, or the way she found him, sitting in a corner of the cell, and twisted her body against his side. It was the little kick of her legs, as if she were about to run; the way her body, curled gently into the blanket, had suddenly tightened; how her fingers squeezed the thin leather stretched out over the frame of the cot; and, when she came over to him, barefoot and wide-eyed, the lingering darkness that seemed to hover under her carefully emotionless expression.

So when Talia lifted her face to Bane's, he put a hand to her head, running his palm down the fuzz of her shorn hair, and whispered, "Nightmare?"

She nodded, still silent from the horror of her own mind, and dropped her face into his robe. He sighed. A couple years with her had still taught him little about how to comfort her –likely because he had never received any such soothing words or caresses himself. He could not even remember if he had ever had any nightmares, back when he was a child himself. His fears had been quite real, quite tangible.

"What was it about?" he asked.

She shrugged wordlessly. Another bad sign. The easiest dreams to soothe away were ones she could remember. It was easy to assure her that nobody would take her, hurt her, not while he was there – how many times had he proven it in reality? But the nameless fears – those were harder. He could guess at it and try to hold her and ease her with his presence, but rarely did that fully banish her fear. Some fear was helpful in the prison they lived in, but not this kind of fear. This made her look old. More than anything else, he hated this sort of fear.

He lifted her onto his lap. "What would you like to do?" If he could not confront her fear head-on, he could at least distract her from it.

She tilted her head up at him, at the protector she adored, and he was pleased to see some of her fright vanishing already. "A game?" she whispered, voice drifting through the cell.

"A game…" He cast his eyes about. Perhaps the only enemy as prevalent and dangerous as the men: boredom. A few years ago, he would have scoffed at the thought. That was before he found himself caring for a child. And born in a prison or not, fear or not, she was still a child, with a child's short attention span and restless energy and annoyingly insistent demands for something to do. What was he to do, let her run about the prison? So he searched and invented and found ways to keep her occupied – a task as difficult as comforting her after a nightmare, with his limited knowledge of games. His "playtime" had consisted of fleeing from men who wanted to kill him – or worse.

"Your training?" he asked. After seeing him go through his exercises, she had joined him, though her training usually meant a few sit-ups soon interrupted by fits of giggles, sitting on him while he did pushups, and simply dangling from the horizontal bars he used for chin-ups. She was, however, quite good at shinnying up the vertical bars.

But Talia shook her head. She had no energy, having just awoken from a nap – a nap he had ordered, to give himself some peace from her constant requests to have something to do, to play with her. There could not be a God in hell on earth, but right now he was sure one existed, if only for the purpose of messing around with him.

"Sand?" he inquired. It was another one he had made up. There was one thing in abundance here, and that was the dirt and dust and earth that rained down on them from the crumbling stones of the prison and the storms that raged overhead. It had been simple to bring in a few bowls of lightly colored sand in, snapping the bones of anyone who stared oddly at him, and have her form pictures on the floor of their cell. She had become quite good with it, able to hold a handful of sand and dribble out lines of varying thicknesses just by squeezing or loosening the curled fingers of her fist, and would sometimes spend hours drawing a detailed picture of their cell, their bed, the men. But oh, the rage she had shown when he had accidentally stepped on one of those sand drawings and smudged the …

But evidently it was not an activity for today, judging by her indifferent shrug at the suggestion. Perhaps, but not her first choice. She nudged at his other hand and pulled free the string he had been fingering. She knotted the ends and wound them around her fingers. "Nothing new?" she asked him.

"Nothing." Yet another little game, though this one had been borne from a habit he had acquired a long time ago – playing with some yarn or twine, then forming figures with them.

She strung the string around her fingers, then pulled both ends over her fingers. He took two of the crosswise strings and pulled them under so that they wrapped about his own. She tried to do the same, but rushed it. They ended up tangled around her hand. She sighed and dropped the knotted ball on the ground.

"Patience, little one," he admonished. Always rushing around, eager to try, not willing to wait – that was Talia.

She made a grumpy sound in the back of her throat and knocked her forehead into his elbow. While he waited for the tingling to stop running up and down his arm, he gazed up at the ceiling and tried to think of something else. He drew his line of sight down the irregular bricks and stones that formed the walls, and found himself looking up at the bowls lining the small alcove in their cell. Normally, they would be filled with water or food, but it was the hot season, and supplies were lower than usual. Some of them were empty… and there were plenty of rocks about…

He stood, Talia's head dropping suddenly. "Wait here," he told her.

He shoved the bed over until it was directly across from her, then grabbed a few bowls and set them up – a large one in the center, a medium sized one to the side, a small one next to it, and, just for the challenge, a narrow bottle to the other side of the largest bowl. Then it was outside to collect rocks, looking for round ones of about the same size, and then back inside where a curious Talia was examining the arrangement of dishware.

"All right." He lifted her back into his lap and sat down as far away from the bowls as possible. He dropped the collection of stones next to him, save for one that he dumped into her hand. "A simple game. Try to get a stone in the bowl. That one." He pointed to the largest bowl.

A delighted smile crossed her face, followed by one of intense concentration. She shifted about his lap until she was comfortable, one hand gripping the front of his robe, the other holding a stone aloft, aiming.

She threw. It missed, bouncing off the other bowls. A frown wiped the smile away. She grabbed another stone and made to throw again.

"No." He caught her arm. "You missed. My turn." She lifted her face to his with the widest eyes she could muster. "And don't you give me that look," he said teasingly, tapping her forehead. "That may work on the other men, but you have no power over me."

He picked up a stone, aimed, and threw, missing the bowl.

"Oh, as if you could do better?" he said in mock anger when she giggled. "Would you accept a challenge, little one?"

"What challenge?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

"Whoever gets the most rocks out of this pile will… get the loser's share of bread next meal. Fair?"

"Fair!" she crowed, about to throw her rock.

He stopped her. "Wait – some other rules. The middle bowl counts as two; the smallest for three."

"And that one for four?" She pointed at the bottle.

"Yes. And-" He grabbed her hand again. "No cheating."

She made a face at him. "I don't cheat."

"Your attempt to get a free turn says differently." She smacked his arm and raised her stone, and threw.

It continued. Talia was a quick learner and a good aimer, and before long she was getting rocks into almost all the bowls, but Bane was taller and had greater reach, and soon they were in deadly competition with one another, though neither had yet to get one in the bottle.

The pile of stones was nearing its end, and it was clear that Talia was winning – only by a bit, but winning, and though some were because Bane had deliberately missed, others were an indication of just how quickly she had picked up the game. Bane decided that desperate measures were called for.

"You're losing," she taunted him, picking up her stone.

"Really?" He flicked a stone casually between his fingers. "I have sixteen. How many do you have?"

"Twenty-two!"

"Still a few rocks left. I might catch up."

"Might not."

She lifted her hand, aiming. He watched her carefully, waiting for just the right moment. Her hand jerked back just slightly – and that was when he brushed his fingers under her arm.

Her shriek filled the cell. The rock flew off in the complete opposite direction she intended, and she fell over, grabbing her armpit where he had just tickled her. As quickly as the laugh had popped it, she was forcing it back, clamping a hand over her mouth and whipping her head over her shoulder to see if she had attracted attention. But amidst the banging of the cells and the shouts of the other inmates, her laughter had been fortunately drowned out.

"Bane!" She smacked him with her fists, over and over again. "That's cheating!"

He blocked her blows, not bothering to hide his smile. "Cheating? What cheating? That was taking advantage of an opportunity."

"No! No! You – said – no – cheating!" she cried punctuating each word with a blow. "I get a free turn!"

"A free turn?" he said in mock horror. "For what?"

"You-" a smack, "-_cheated_!" Another smack. Her eyes flashed at him. "I want a free turn!"

"Oh, very well." He drew the words out slowly, as if he were only reluctantly conceding to her demand.

She huffed, shuffling herself about in his lap. She grabbed another rock and flinched when he twitched his fingers. His snort of laughter at her reaction earned him another death glare. She fingered the rock carefully, then aimed, deliberately holding her arms close to her body.

So it was her stomach that he ended up tickling.

"Bane!" The rock had gone flying towards the wall, bouncing off and striking Bane's leg, but he didn't notice, since a child a quarter his size was now intent on killing him. "That's – not – fair!"

"Not fair?" he exclaimed, trying to block her flurry of fists. "You got a free turn!"

"Not – fair! Not – fair!" She grumped and grouched and thumped herself in his lap.

He lowered his arms. "Would you like another free turn?"

Her glare threatened to burn him. He smiled, lifting his own rock. "Then I suppose it's my turn?" He lifted his hand.

Quick as lightning, Talia snaked her hand under his arm and tickled.

Nothing. Bane watched in amusement as her eyes went wide with shock, and then narrowed with fury.

"Doesn't work on me, little one," he teased, trying to ruffle her head. She knocked his hand back and settled for staring at the wall. He tossed his rock. They both heard the _plink_ as it landed in the middle bowl.

"Your turn," he said, handing her a rock. She jerked her head around, still grumpy, and deliberately ignored his hand, picking up a rock by herself. Deciding that wasn't enough, she slid off his lap as well and sat apart from him, keeping her throwing arm close to her body and folding her other arm over her stomach. Now protected, she made to throw.

He reached over and tickled her neck. Laughter burst out from her; she fell over, trying to avoid his terrible fingers, and got up in time to see her stone go rolling under the bed.

"_Bane!_" she howled. "Stop it!"

"I look forward to eating your half of the bread tonight."

"No!" She slapped his arm. "And that's still cheating!"

"Cheating? You tried to do it to me!"

"That doesn't count! It didn't even work on you!"

Soon, it was down to the last stone, Talia's. Bane was ahead by three points.

"Even if you make it, we will be at a tie." He had to bite the inside of his cheek at her expression. Winning made her cheer and losing intensified her focus, but a dreaded tie? She hated those. He had taught her the game of tic-tac-toe, done with lines drawn with sand and rocks of different colors for X's and O's. At first they had played in earnest, but soon he focused only on blocking every attempt she made at a line, with all their subsequent games ending in a draw. She had sulked for hours afterwards.

Talia aimed another withering look at him. He merely raised his eyebrows at her, watching with mild amusement as she scooted her body away as far as possible. This meant she was at a very odd angle to the bed, but so long as she was away from Bane and his…distractions… then she was fine. She had only one chance at winning – the bottle. She shifted about carefully, looking for the best possible place. There was a reason it was so difficult. A small top and a narrow neck meant that she had to throw it high and hope that, as it fell, it would land squarely in the opening. Any other way, and it bounce off it. But she was holding a very small stone, and if she aimed just right, she could make it.

She narrowed her eyes and raised her hand.

Bane whipped out his hand and grabbed her feet, tickling the underside.

It was the worst place of all. Her scream of laughter might very well have been heard by those outside the pit; that was how loud it was. The rock flew out of her hand and into the air –

"_BANE!_"

And landed clean in the very opening of the bottle, clattering down the neck and depositing itself at the bottom.

That stopped all laughter. For a moment, both of them stayed where they were, Bane reaching out for her, Talia half fallen over.

The moment passed. Bane moved over and picked up the bottle, shaking it. The rock clinked about in the bottom. "Impossible," he said in wonder.

Talia scooted up beside him, trying and failing to hide her gloating. "Four points?"

He put down the bottle, offering her his rare, warm smile of pride. "Four points. And my half of bread."

She wouldn't take it, of course, not when they both received so little food. They would argue and fight and try to trick one another into eating more than their fair share, and in the end they would both end with the same amount as before.

He put his hand under her arm, gently; she giggled and smacked him away, any anger she felt towards him gone. He emptied the rocks into a pile on the floor – a future distraction, should she need it – and put the bowls and bottle back where they belonged. When he was finished, he saw Talia leaning against the bed, eyelids drooping with tiredness. There was no more lingering fear in those eyes.

"Come." He lifted her onto the bed. "Time for a rest." It was nearing the hottest part of the day, the prison going quiet as the other inmates imitated their example. More than a few had cast curious glances at their cell during their game, but a combination of the heat and his own baleful glare made them keep their distance. As the sound of talking, of cell doors closing, echoed around the prison, Talia lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. He considered the child for a moment, lying against the wall of their cell, then joined her in the bed, shoving the blanket away. They had no need of that, not in this heat.

She felt him go onto the bed and moved aside to make room. "That was a good game," she murmured, ensnaring his shawl between her fingers. She yawned, leaning her head against his chest and finding the spot she always rested against. "Can we play again…later?"

"Of course." He rested his chin on top of her head. "Later. For now…go to sleep, little one."

She curled closer to him, breath evening. "And no cheating," she whispered, drifting off to sleep.

Bane laughed quietly. "Now that I cannot promise you."

_End_

* * *

There was a second, companion prompt to this, which went along the lines of, "Talia needs comfort, and she and Bane explore the adult version of their childhood game", but I'm not all that interested in writing that, unfortunately. (I feel like the only person more interested in the platonic, father-daughter relationship between the two. Not that romantic is bad - I read Bane/Talia stuff quite a bit - but my preference leans more towards... this kind of stuff, you know? Maybe a heads up for any future FanFiction I post, too.) Anyway, the adult version of tickling... well, you can imagine where that will lead, right?

And I'm not even going to think about the adult version of target practice...

So, hit the review button, please? And thanks for reading!


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